After finishing the plate of fried noodles saturated with Night City's signature sour stench, Arthur swore to himself:
"Never again. Not unless I get my hands on real flour someday."
Maybe the problem wasn't Night City.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe he just wasn't enlightened enough to appreciate a smell so pungent it could strip paint.
Sighing, Arthur pulled on his windbreaker, patted his waist to make sure his pistol was there, and glanced toward the living room.
David was hunched over his homework, scratching his head like a monkey with fleas.
Arthur grinned mischievously.
"Daddy's taking you to school today," he announced.
David froze.
"...Huh? Seriously?"
Ever since junior high started, David had taken the tram to school on his own.
Sure, Night City's public transport was "functional"—if you didn't mind the occasional drunk puking down your shoes, gangs staging shootouts, or couples auditioning for the world's least romantic adult movie right there on the seats.
Honestly? David would rather take his chances with public transit than whatever his crazy old man had in mind.
Still, David didn't exactly miss the smell of sour vomit and burnt rubber every morning.
So, after hesitating a second, he nodded.
A few minutes later, the two were downstairs.
David scanned the street, then looked at Arthur suspiciously.
No car keys.
No parked vehicle.
No sign of transportation at all.
David's heart sank.
"You... you're not thinking of stealing a car, are you?"
Arthur clicked his tongue in mock offense.
"Steal? Son, don't be so harsh. It's called borrowing."
He gestured broadly at the empty street.
"Night City is full of warm-hearted folks.
Why, just yesterday, a guy from the Sixth Street Gang kindly lent me his car."
David stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
Sixth Street?
Warm-hearted?!
Sixth Street was about as "warm-hearted" as a pit full of cyber-rabid pit bulls.
Helping you into the afterlife was the nicest thing they usually did.
Arthur, ignoring his son's disbelief, started scanning parked cars like he was shopping at a mall.
David felt a chill.
"Please tell me you're not gonna—"
"Relax!" Arthur waved him off. "We just need a ride, not a hostage situation. Look, you can even help me pick."
David hesitated, then pointed to a sleek black Sword in the Stone parked nearby.
Arthur's face immediately darkened.
"...My good son," he sighed, rubbing his temples. "If I touched that car, I'd have half of Arasaka's security detail and the NCPD's finest crawling up my ass in five minutes."
He smacked David lightly on the back of the head.
"Lesson one: Don't jack rich people's cars."
"They've got security systems so sophisticated, even God couldn't hotwire them.
Not to mention, their insurance will call in bounty hunters faster than you can say 'Oh shit.'"
David winced.
"Okay... what about that one?"
He pointed to a battered piece of junk nearby, looking more rust than car.
Arthur clicked his tongue.
"And lesson two: Don't touch civilian garbage, either.
Civilians' cars aren't worth the trouble."
"Step on the gas, the whole car might lie down and die right there.
Or worse—explode and then die."
David finally started to understand.
Arthur's eyes gleamed as he spotted a better target.
"There."
He pointed to a dude lounging against a decently maintained car nearby—some unlucky member of the Sixth Street Gang.
"Sixth Street guys are perfect.
Car's good.
Maintenance decent.
Plus, they've usually got bounties on their heads, so if you 'borrow' their stuff, no one's gonna snitch to the NCPD."
Arthur rubbed his hands together eagerly.
"And, if you ask nicely enough, they'll even fill the gas tank for you!
That's the Night City spirit!"
David opened his mouth to protest—then sighed.
It was happening whether he liked it or not.
Arthur marched confidently over to the gang member, cigarette dangling from his mouth, casual as anything.
He clapped the guy on the shoulder.
"Brother," Arthur said smoothly, blowing a lazy cloud of smoke into the guy's face.
"I see your car parked here, all lonely and neglected.
Why don't you lend it to me?
I just need to drop off the kid at school."
The Sixth Street guy blinked.
His prosthetic eye flickered.
"...Sure! Sure, brother, no problem at all!"
He nodded furiously, like a bobblehead on fast forward.
Arthur grinned.
Night City's finest.
But he wasn't done yet.
"By the way," Arthur added, "looks like you're low on gas.
How about you lend me a hundred eddies too, so I can fill her up?"
Without hesitation, the gang member pulled out a crumpled bill and slapped it into Arthur's outstretched palm.
"Anything for the kids! The future of Night City!" he beamed.
Arthur pocketed the money with a pleased grunt, then casually stretched out his hand again.
"You know, a hundred might not be enough.
Gotta prepare for traffic.
Why don't you lend me two hundred more, brother?"
The guy barely blinked.
He handed over two more crisp bills like a good little ATM.
Arthur patted him on the back warmly.
"See, son?" Arthur said proudly, turning to David.
"There are still many good people in Night City."
David stood there, stunned into silence, watching his father smoothly extort money and a car without even raising his voice.
He couldn't decide if he should be impressed...
or terrified.
Arthur tossed him the car keys and grinned.
"Hop in, champ. Let's go get you an education."
And just like that, they roared off toward Arasaka Academy—
leaving one very confused Sixth Street gangster waving them off, still smiling like he'd just made a new best friend.